Wizard's First Rule - Terry Goodkind [321]
The only time Denna paused was a few times to sit at the table to eat. She would watch him while she slowly ate fruit, smile to herself when he moaned. He was given nothing to eat, only water from a cup she held for him after she was finished with her meal.
At the end of the day she hooked his chain to the beam again and made him stand for the night. He didn’t bother to ask why; it didn’t matter. She was going to do as she wished and there was nothing he could do to change it.
In the morning when she returned with the torch, he was still standing, but barely. She seemed in a good mood.
“I want a good-morning kiss.” She smiled. “I expect you to return it. Show me how happy you are to see your mistress.”
He did his best, but had to concentrate on how pretty her braid was. The embrace ignited the flames of pain in the wounds she pressed against. When she was finished, and the hurt left him shaking, she pulled the chain off the peg and tossed it on the floor.
“You are learning to be a good pet. You have earned two hours of sleep.”
He collapsed to the floor, asleep before the sound of her footsteps faded.
He discovered that being awakened by the Agiel was a terror all its own. The brief sleep had done little to revive him. He needed much more than he had been allowed. He vowed to himself that he would struggle with all his might to get through the entire day without making a single mistake, to do exactly as she wished, and maybe she would grant him a whole night’s sleep.
He put all his effort into doing everything she wished, hoping he would please her. He was hoping, too, that he would be given something to eat. He hadn’t eaten since she had captured him. He wondered which he wanted more—sleep, or food. He decided that what he wanted the most was for the pain to stop. Or for him to be allowed to die.
He was at the end of his strength, felt his life slipping away from him, and awaited the end with longing. Denna seemed to sense his waning endurance, and eased up, giving him more time to recover, taking longer breaks. He didn’t care; he knew it was never going to end, he was lost. He surrendered his will to live, to go on, to hold out. She cooed to him soothingly, stroked his face, as he hung in the shackles, resting. She spoke encouragingly to him, told him not to give up, and promised that when he was broken, it would be better. He just listened, not even able to cry.
When at last she unhooked the shackles from the beam, he thought it must be night again; he had no sense of time anymore. He waited for her to hook up the chain, or throw it on the floor and tell him he could sleep. She did neither. She instead hooked it over the chair, told him to stand, and left. When she returned, she was carrying a bucket.
“On your knees, my pet.” She sat in the chair next to him, took a brush from the hot soapy water, and started scrubbing him. The stiff bristles brought a pain all of their own as they worked into his wounds. “We have a dinner invitation. I have to get you cleaned up. I rather like the smell of your sweat, your fear, but I’m afraid it would offend the guests.”
She worked with an odd sort of tenderness It reminded him of the way a person would care for a dog. He fell against her, unable to hold himself up. He wouldn’t lean against her for support if he had the strength not to, but he didn’t. She let him stay where he was as she scrubbed. He wondered who the dinner invitation was from, but didn’t ask.
Denna told him anyway. “Queen Milena herself has asked us to join her and her guests for dinner. Quite an honor, for someone as low as you, wouldn’t you say?”
He only nodded, not having enough strength to speak.
Queen Milena. So they were in her castle. He guessed that didn’t surprise him. Where else would she have